


Luz del Sol

by Mars00135



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adulting Is Rough, American Jean, Angst, Annie and Reiner are siblings, Another Journalism AU from Moi, Are You Ready For The Feels?!, Beaches, Brazil, Brazilian/Spanish Marco, Brazilian/Spanish Ymir, Bromance, Copy Editor Hanji, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fashion Designer Ymir, Get Ready For The Heat, Glasses Levi, Good Ol' Fashion Romancing, Humor, Jean and Eren are best friends, Jean is awkward, Journalist Jean, Levi and Mikasa are siblings, Long Summer Nights, M/M, Managing Editor Levi, Marco and Ymir are Twins, Marco has longish hair, Mellow Jean, Moonlight Walks, News Editor Moblit, Old World Beauty, Photographer Eren, Photographer/Gallery Owner Krista, Plot Driven, Realistic plot, Sao Paulo, Sassy Eren, Soccer Player Bertholt, Soccer Player Marco, Spain, Spanish Speaking Marco, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Switching Prespectives, Traveling for work, american eren, barcelona, editor Levi, mature - Freeform, modern day AU, music references, realistic romance, so much sass, sorta slow build, such wow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 18:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars00135/pseuds/Mars00135
Summary: It was just another morning. A day unlike any other when Marco went to balcony to have his morning smoke. But then there, standing beneath shelter of the bus stop across the street, was a man with eyes the color of sunlight.





	1. Moonwater

"Buenos dias La Barceloneta, you're listening to 131 FM, El Sol Diario and this is your host, El Rey," the host announced over the radio through the thick humid air of the spacious apartment. "Today's high will be ninety-seven as the record-breaking heat wave continues. Lows tonight in the eighties for the inland with mid-seventies at the beaches. Now over to your eyes in the sky for the traffic report."

As radio hosts continued prattling off the news and morning traffic reports, their voices carried throughout the living, across the vacant kitchen with the dishes drying on the rack, and over to the bedroom with the balcony doors flung open wide. It was already so hot; the air thick with a coastal dampness that clung to the skin and made it impossible to find the motivation to do anything. Like every morning, Marco was sitting on the wooden bench piled high with colorful cushions that lined the balcony railing. 

Cigarette balanced between his lips, he relaxed in the shade with his back pressed to the cool pale yellow stucco wall with his eyes closed. A sheer layer of sweat had already collected on his coppery skin despite it only being ten-thirty in the morning. He hated the dog days of summer since the days dragged on for far too long and the nights lasted for a mere blink before the sun was up again. And with every sunrise came the oppressive heat and humidity that would follow him all the way to work and would be sitting waiting for him when he left in the evening.

Phone ringing at his side, the brunette cracked one eye open as he brought the device up to eye level while shielding his face from the sun. Muttering under his breath, he exstinguished the cigarette in the ashtray to his right made entirely out of old peso's that he had brought back from a recent trip to Argentina to visit family. Usually he wouldn't answer the phone this early in the morning. It was his quiet time; a required part of his day used to unwind from the night before and mentally prepare himself to the day ahead. However, if he didn't pick up, his home line would start buzzing which would only lead to confrontation.

Sighing, Marco swiped his thumb over the screen to the right and answered the call. "Hey sis. Que pasa?"

"Oh gracias a Dios, estas vivo. Don't ever fucking worry me like that again," Ymir, his twin, scolded him from the other end. They had gone out the night before for some drinks to celebrate her being selected to headline Paris fashion week and one thing led to another... "I told you to call me when you got home and stayed up all night worrying about you."

"Oh Dios mio Ymir, bajale, calmate," he groaned though with a small smirk curling the corner of his lip. "I'm fine. I just had a few too many and passed out when I got back to the apartment. No es para preocupes."

"No es para preocupes? Marco!"

Holding the phone away from his ear with a chuckle as she barked at him from the other end, Marco leaned against the railing; his deep earthen eyes aimlessly wandering over the boardwalk and the people lounging on the beach only a couple yards away. It wasn't out of the usual for the shore to be packed with patrons this early in the day during July. The seaside city was a hotspot for tourists since it bordered the Mediterranean but lacked all the pretentiousness of other coastal locals like Tangier, Nice, Cannes, Monaco, and Venice. While he didn't particularly mind the locals, he made an effort to avoid visitors; especially those from South and North America. It wasn't because they were bad people. They were just nosy and he preferred keeping to himself.

Humming short answers and answering with a simple "yes" or "no," he watched as Mr. and Mrs. Castillo walked their two chihuahua's Lottie and Lucy. Their cat Blanca, who was as old as time and grumpier than a government civil servant on a Saturday, stayed at home where it would break out of the apartment and wreck havoc in the garden boxes of unsuspecting neighbors. Sunbathing on the sand wearing a skimpy Speedo was Paulo, Marco’s downstairs neighbor that had little to no shame. The man was a barrel chested giant with thick curly black hair everywhere except for his head yet--every morning during the summer at 10:00 a.m. sharp--made his way down to the beach where he stripped down to the bright yellow piece of spandex and lathered up with coconut oil. Leisurely rolling skating by was Mia, the young daughter of Horatio, a bookstore owner who lived in the pastel pink apartment complex three blocks down with his wife and three children. Waving at him as she passed, the twelve-year-old smiled; almost stumbling when she knocked into Paulo's supply bag that was sitting on the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

Marco chuckled to himself as the young woman anxiously apologized to the oil-slicked man while trying not to further embarrass herself in front of the handsome man three flights up. It was no secret to anyone that she had a crush on the brunette. Often, Marco would frequent her father's shop to trade in his old books for new ones. Whenever he did Mia was sure to be there waiting for a chance to talk to him, usually wearing a white summer dress with pink sandals. She didn't understand the extreme age difference. In her eyes, he was as handsome as the princes that lived in the books she read. Arching a brow with a knowing smirk, he silently gestured for the young girl to watch where she was going. It was as she awkwardly waved her goodbye that Marco noticed someone new; someone who was definitely out of place. 

Sitting on the bench at the bus stop across the street from his apartment was a young man, likely in his twenties, with flaxen blonde hair and fair skin that had obviously spent little time exposed to the intense rays of the Mediterranean sun. Dressed in a white cotton v-neck, khaki beige chinos that had been twice cuffed at the bottom, and dark brown woven leather flats, he could have passed for a local if he weren't so pale. Well, that and if he wasn't carrying that large canvas messenger bag with the camera sticking out of it. 'I wonder what's his story?' Marco pondered as he continued observing the young man from afar.

As if the words had been spoken, the blonde looked up; his eyes barely visible from over the rim of his dark aviators. Staring at one another for a long moment, Marco didn't move a muscle. Something within him was curious to see what would happen if he kept looking. It wasn't every day that someone that handsome appeared out of nowhere. 'Maybe he's an athlete training for the World Cup or something,' the brunette thought. It would make sense considering soccer teams from across the world had been passing through to get some practice in on the field they'd be competing on in a month. Maybe this guy was with one of them. Or perhaps he was with the press which would explain the gear he was packing in that bag.

Eyes still locked as the bus rolled up, their gaze lasted a little longer as the young man picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and boarded the bus. As the vehicle disappeared down the street, there was a fleeting moment in which Marco wondered if he'd ever see the guy again. He didn't know why but he had the strange urge to see what as behind those glasses. Maybe it was because most locals didn't wear them so everyone knew what everyone else looked like. Or maybe it was because of the enchanting way his flawless skin seemed to reflect the sunlight like a mirror, lighting himself up like a beam dwelling beneath the partial shade of the bus stop overhang. Whatever it was, it had Marco's attention and his curiosity.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping off the bus, Jean slipped on his press badge as he entered the air conditioned lobby of BCN Mes. Greeting Olivia, the receptionist who politely reminded him that he was ten minutes late, the blonde thanked her while grabbing the folder of mail she had waiting for him behind the desk. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, Jean read the sender names on the letters as he journeyed up to the third floor where the feature writers and editors were housed. Pushing the door open, he had hoped to sneak over to his desk without Ackerman noticing. Unfortunately he wasn't so lucky.

"You're late Kirstein," sniped that oh-so-familiar voice from across the room.

Freezing in place as he cursed under his breath, Jean turned around looking like a teenager who had been caught sneaking in after curfew. "Sorry, my alarm didn't go off this morning and the bus was running late. It won't happen again Levi."

Arching a single immaculate brow behind his black box-frame glasses, the managing editor clicked his tongue. "Didn't you say that yesterday and twice last Wednesday and Thursday?"

"Yeah but that was different. I was saving a litter of kittens from a house fire and arm wrestling David Hasselhoff," he joked; smirking when the two other reports at their desks nearest him snorted and laughed. "Seriously though, I won't let it happen again. I'm still getting used to the area but I think I got my route down now."

"Hmm," was all Levi said as he took a sip from his mug; drinking tea most likely since he was even more of a monster when jacked up on coffee or espresso.

Turning around and marching off--likely to terrorize some other poor unsuspecting journalist--Levi left Jean to his own devices. Thankful for the gesture, the reporter continued on toward his desk which was buddied up with Erens. It made sense that the two had been paired up as partners at BCN Mes since it was the brunette who helped recruit Jean from The Boston Globe back in the US. That and they had been friends since their embarrassing diaper years and virtually did everything together. Wherever Eren was, Jean was close behind and vice versa. The only thing that had changed with time was how frequently they argued and their height difference. Other than that they were still the same strange dynamic duo that worked like a dream except for when one of them was making an ass out of themselves.

Dissolving into his luxe swivel chair with a sigh, the blonde gladly took the hot cinnamon dolce latte that Eren slid across to his friends' desk without looking up from the computer. The guy was on thirty minutes away from his hard deadline for some sports piece--something about some soccer legend returning to the field after a nasty accident a few years back. With his dark blue box frame glasses on, bubblegum bouncing between his teeth when it wasn't being blown into a bubble, and his shaggy cinnamon hair pinned back so that it wasn't in his field of vision, Eren didn't have time for morning greetings. 

More focused than he was on during the last two months of their senior year in grad school, Erens fingers typed faster than the music he was likely listening to which was a feat of in itself. Rounding the joined desks to see how far along he was, Jean's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw the word count on the tracker in the top left corner. Not minding his friend in the least, the brunette hit one-thousand five-hundred and six words. Who ever this guy was that Eren was writing about must have been a big deal if he was getting that many words for his story pre-edit. Folding his arms loosely across his chest, Jean tried to read along but couldn't keep up; never could when the brunette was in his hyper-focus mode, it being something of a superpower only people with ADHD possessed.

Five short minutes later, Eren released a long pleased sigh of relief while joining the fingers of both hands together, flipping them so that the palms were facing out, and stretched his weary arms. How the guy worked so quickly Jean would never know. It was one of the many reasons though that he was given the tougher articles to write; the ones that needed to reach well past the thousand word mark and good quality without missing the short deadline that had been given. In many ways, Eren was their pinch hitter--the ace in the hole that could juggle four feature stories at once and get them done over one weekend. Perhaps that was why he was everyone's favorite. Well, Levi's favorite which although there were a number of things their editor "liked" about the brunette; one primarily being his pretty face as Jean recalled from the last time he had walked past Eren's room in their shared apartment and accidentally overheard their pillow talk.

"Nice job man," Jean murmured as he patted his friend's shoulder while reading the final three graphs. As always, they were solid, powerful, and left a lasting impression. "I still don't know how you can do eight hundred words in two hours. That's absurd."

"You know you've been saying that since our days at the Daily Nexus," Eren chuckled as he picked up his own coffee and took a sip. "It's nothing really. I just sit down with my music and write."

"No, I sit down with my music and write. You sit down and flip on hyper-boosters in your brain or something. I’ve tried getting your attention while you’re working and nothing I say registers with you. It's like you’re having a Rain Man moment."

"Psh, whatever. I don't do that."

"Yeah, you kinda do."

Interrupting their civil debate was their copy editor, Petra who, with a kind smile, tapped the two men on their shoulders. "Hey guys, it's time for deadline review and story assignment at the bull pen."

"Right, thanks Petra," Jean replied with a pleasant look as he smiled to her. 

It had been strange coming into the newsroom without her managing the floor. Thankfully, Petra was back from maternity leave and was at her fighting fittest. Her husband, Olou, had tapped her in taking his paternity leave for the next three months so that she could do her thing while he tended to their two children and newborn son. It certainly made Levi happy since everything ran smoother when his right-hand woman was around. And what made the managing editor happy made everyone else happy because it meant less scoldings and more time to focus on writing and the occasional nap or game of billiards in the employee rec room.

Taking their drinks with them, the two friends headed toward the large meeting room in the front left corner that bordered the wall of glass windows that overlooked the city. One of the biggest departments in the organization, the room was filled with a dozen or so couches and beanbags to accommodate the thirty-two staff members, editors, and photographers. Jerking his chin at Connie who was sitting on a lipstick pink double-seater beanbag with his girlfriend and fellow writer Sasha, Jean and Eren sat down on the suede couch nearest them; muttering their hello's under their breath when Levi, Hanji, Mike, and Erwin came in. 

The only time those four appeared together in the newsroom was during meetings since they were usually holed up into their offices editing articles and designing the page layout otherwise. How they each managed their relationships with such a heavy workflow--especially Erwin and Mike who had just come back from their anniversary trip a week ago--was beyond Jean. He could barely spare enough time in his day to keep the potted plants in his apartment alive let alone entertain a significant other. As such, he had to give them kudos for not losing their minds.

Spending the first forty minutes of the meeting going around the room and checking in to see where each writer was with their story--or stories for those bold enough to take on multiples--the next portion was dedicated to pitching and assigning stories for next months issue. Oddly enough, the two subjects being tossed around the most were sports features and fashion pieces. With Milan, Paris, London, New York, Tokyo, and Madrid all gearing up for their upcoming fall/winter fashion weeks, one name was being thrown around the room like it was the latest gossip in a hair salon full of older rich women with nothing better to do than run their mouths. As luck would have it, the face of Eren's story had a twin who was headlining the show week in Paris then three days later in Sao Paulo, Brazil for their semi-annual event. Even better was that Levi was well acquainted with the primary source for this piece too.

"Jean," the man called from across the room; nearly everyone shifting so that they could look at the blonde. "I'm assigning you to the SoulChild story."

"Wait, what?" Jean suddenly snapped to attention as he looked up from his phone to see everyone staring at him; some jealous that he'd been picked by the managing editor for the story. "You're doing what now? I'm not even finished with my piece on the graffiti artist yet."

"Well wrap that one up fast because SoulChild's yours. You've got thirty-three days to interview, compile, and write the story."

"And my word count?"

Arching a brow while folding his arms across his chest, Levi pursed his lips. "Fifteen-hundred at the least and I want a full range of photo's of the workshop, the face's place of residence, some portraits of them at work, at home relaxing with the family..."

"So get everything."

"Yeah pretty much."

Running his hands over his face with a sigh, the blonde knew he couldn't turn down the assignment. "Fine, okay I'll do it."

"Good. That'll be your primary focus. Any other stories you pick up take second to it. And write a copy in English and one in French because we'll be sharing this with Vogue Spain."

"Right, got it," he groaned. This was not going to be fun.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Running along the abandon shore under the moonlight, Marco kept his eyes on the path ahead. The day had been nothing but an endless parade of reporters trying to get a quote from him of his first official day back with the team while photographers snuck around security to get to the stadium bleachers so they could take pictures of him during practice. The experience served as a reminder as to why he despised the press so greatly. It was a shame though since his old college friends were part of a local magazine that--ironically--was based in Barcelona. But they were different. They didn't bug him and when they did have to write a story about him, they sent some bright-eyed kid that knew a thing or two about respecting someone's privacy. 

'I wonder if that's the guy Levi's been seeing,' Marco wondered to himself as he worked to keep his breathing level after hitting the three mile marker. Just another half mile and he'd be home.

He knew the guy had been seeing someone recently. Levi wasn't the kind of guy to up and change the way he behaved but, no matter how subtle it was, he had begun to act differently. It wasn't anything terrible. He was just more considerate now and less abrasive; especially in the mornings which was far more out of character since he was always at his worst in the earlier hours of the day. Had always been that way even during their college years. If Eren--as Marco recalled him introducing himself as--was, in fact, dating Levi then the kid deserved a medal for making the editor more human-like than anyone else could since he had started working at BCN Mes.

Finishing the final leg of his nightly run with some energy to spare, he crossed the street, entered the pastel yellow apartment complex, and jogged up the stairs to the third floor. Breathing hard, he unlocked the front door to his flat and made quick work of stripping off his running shirt that was now soaked through with sweat. Grabbing a bottle of water then pressing the button on the blinking answering machine as he passed, he let the twenty-seven messages play in the background as white noise while he walked over to the balcony. Marco leaned against the railing with a sigh as he poured a healthy helping of water onto his head and shoulders to cool off. It was so damn hot, he didn't know why he had worn the shirt. 

Staring out at the Mediterranean as gentle waves rolled up to shore and broke in low white crests, the brunette considered going for a late night swim to cool down and unwind before bed. It was one of the many reasons why he had bought the spacious apartment overlooking the sea. Yet as he was about to leave the balcony to grab something to slid on for the walk to the shore, the number six bus pulled up. Stopping in his tracks before he had even left the railing, Marco watched as the blonde stranger stepped onto the sidewalk, pausing before he turned around and looked up. This had become a regular occurrence since the first time their eyes had met five days ago. Something about the young man drew him in like a riptide pulling him out to sea. It wasn't just because he was handsome. There was something strange about him; something that felt distant and yet so near.

However, unlike the other mornings and evenings when their eyes met, the blonde didn't walk away after a polite nod. Tonight was different.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The past week had been nothing short of hell for Jean. He had tried numerous times to sit down with the face of his story but the woman's PR agent kept switching the dates around since the designer was too busy to talk at the moment. And there wasn't any way he would interview secondary sources without talking to his primary source first. It wasn't how he did things because he hated going in blind more than anything. But if things kept going the way they were, he'd have no choice but to call them and set something up. Jean thought this was going to be easier than his other jobs since the woman was old friends with Levi; he didn't expect it to be a cakewalk, just not as hard as it was proving to be. Yet he couldn't have been more wrong.

It had been three days since he had gotten a decent nights rest and two days since he'd had a real meal. He was too stressed to think about eating or sleeping when in a few days his editors would come hunting for him. Well, two editors. Hanji, Mike, and Erwin were chill for the most part but Levi could be a monster if things weren't kept to schedule. There was also Mara, the page designer who had been hounding him about handing in a mock layout for his page design so she could start drawing it up. But he had nothing to give her so the blonde kept ignoring her calls which only pissed her off more and she could be just as terrifying as his managing editor--sometimes more when she wanted to be.

Eyes opening as the bus reached his stop, Jean dragged his tired weary body to its feet, gathered his things, and disembarked while making sure he didn't trip over his sluggish feet. Stepping off the bus, he took a long deep breath in and sighed before he felt the familiar weight of curious eyes on his back. It had been like this for five days, going to and from work with the handsome stranger on the third floor of the apartment building across the street from the stop watching him. He hadn't the faintest idea what was so interesting about him that it would spark such behavior. But the longer this carried on, the more curious Jean himself became.

Turning around to met the eyes that were already fixed on him, the blonde felt his back go stiff and his mouth run dry at the sight before him. There, standing on the balcony dripping wet and without a shirt on, was the handsome spectator. The long strands of his shaggy fade undercut hung around his face like a halo while the muscles of his toned chest and shoulders flexed ever so slightly as he shifted from leaning on one leg to the other. Perfectly bowed lips pulling into a smile like they always did, the brunette lifted his bottle as if he were giving a toast. He shouldn't have given it any thought, that charming smile of his. Shouldn't have wondered why he was looking at him the way he was or why they seemed to always stare at one another for too long. Jean should have politely nodded and walked away like he always did. Shouldn't have given it a second thought. 

But today something felt different; as if the ground beneath him had shifted and spurred his body into action. Before Jean knew what was happening he had already crossed the street and walked right up to the building; their eyes still locked on one another. Now that they were closer, the blonde could see the faintest traces of freckles spanning over the mans chest torso and shoulders under the ruddy glow of the warm balcony light. It was shocking how more beautiful the stranger was with the distance between them gone. Deep brown eyes the size of the moon regarded him humorously through a veil of long lashes while his gently sloped nose wrinkled with the small chuckle that escaped from his lips. Jean felt as though he had walked into some strange fairy-tale. The moment was just so...enchanting.

"Hey," Jean said, his voice sounding different to his ears than it usually did; an odd amalgamation of anxious and excitement.

Lips curling and cheeks dimpling as his smile grew, the stranger arched a brow. "Hey," he answered back in an accented tone that wasn't anything like the usual Spanish the blonde had heard.

"H-Hey..."

"You already said that."

"What?" the blonde nearly stammered. He wasn't entirely sure of what he had just said, just that words had come out in some senseless jumble.

"You already said 'hey.'"

"O-Oh. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"I'll say."

Jean didn't know what to do; didn't know what to say to someone that breathtaking that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot.

"Why do you keep watching me?" Nope, that was not what he wanted to say. "Sorry," he followed up with almost immediately as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while the other fidgeted with the loose string inside his pant pocket. "I didn't mean to be rude and assume anything."

"It's alright. I have been watching you." Smirking as the blonde's head snapped up, the brunette chuckled quietly. "You must be new to the area. I haven't seen you around before and almost everyone in this neighborhood knows each other."

"Oh, yeah. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago."

"What for?"

"Work."

"Ah," the brunette nodded. Staring at his water bottle for a moment while swirling the contents inside, he lifted his gaze to met the young mans dazzling amber eyes. "What's your name?"

"Jean. And you?"

"Marco."

"Marco," Jean said dreamily as he tested the feel of the man's name rolling off the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah." Marco didn't understand it, but there came the smallest hint of a fluttering in his chest when he heard the syllables repeated. Glancing over his shoulder as his house phone rang, the brunette sighed. "My apologies but I have to go."

"Oh, it's alright. I should be heading home anyways."

"Right. Well then goodnight Jean. I'll see you around sometime."

"Yeah, see ya' around." As the brunette waved goodnight, Jean lingered under the warm glow of the street lamp for another minute, totally and completely entranced by the exchange. Smiling, he shrugged his bag up his shoulder then, with one final glance at the window, whispered, "Night" and cheerily started the walk back home.


	2. Sea Salt and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jean goes to work with a nasty cold, he'll find that it isn't just his friends and colleagues who want him to take it easy...
> 
>  
> 
> HEADS UP: Hey guys, so I've been kinda sick--well maybe really sick but whatever--so my updates won't be coming as frequently as they have been. I just got out of the hospital for a fever and hopefully the antibiotics will help. But I won't be up to doing much writing for a bit so I hope ya'll understand.
> 
> Merci beaucoup et tout a l'heure,
> 
> -Mars

It was already humid and hot when Jean woke up; covered in a thin veil of cold sweat from the small cold he'd been working against all week. Shivering as the breeze blew in through his bedroom window--chilling the skin beneath his damp sleeping shirt--the blonde sneezed with a sniffle afterwards as he reached for his phone. Frowning when he saw the string of text notifications from his mom, he put the device on airplane mode after clearing the screen. When he had left the states two years ago for his first out-of-country job in London, his mother was determined to set him up with a nice girl from their church back home in California. He was her eldest son which apparently meant it was up to him to settle down, knock up his wife, and give her seven grandchildren. Much to Joy's disappointment, he had told her repeatedly that he was as bent as a crowbar and had no interest in marrying a woman.

It didn't help that Joy hadn't spoken to Flynn since his gender reassignment surgery four years ago which meant she piled all her hopes and dreams on Jean. But now she hounded him about it from the other side of the globe and continued to ignore it when he told her he was gay. It were as if Jean were talking to a brick wall. Every other morning he'd wake up to two to six messages asking him when he was coming home, if he had been eating right, and if he had met any nice girls while traveling. Even after sending her a drunken picture of himself making out with some random guy he'd met at a bar in Brixton, she just ignored it. Once in a while, he'd get a message from Flynn with his fiancee Kaye which would give Jean something to smile about. But that morning, to add to how shitty he already felt, Joy's nagging was all he had received in his inbox.

Groaning as the alarm clock went off ten minutes later, Jean reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. Thankfully Eren had stayed the night at Levi's place so he didn't have to listen to him worrying like some mother hen. Jean loved Eren and had been best friends with him since they were children. But sometimes the guy overdid it with how much he agonized over his health. He knew his limits and what his body could take and, while being sick for more than a couple of days was unusual for him, Jean knew it wouldn't last much longer.

After taking a little bit longer in the shower than usual, he decided to forego his since of fashion that day for comfort. Slipping on a pair of lightweight navy joggers--pulling them up to the mid-calf so that he wouldn't sweat up a storm--Jean tugged on a white scoop neck t-shirt, and his favorite white low-top Converse with the red stripe around the sole and pen drawings Eren had scribbled on there one night when he was bored of studying for their midterms. Holding his press badge between his teeth as he slid each arm through the sleeves of his old navy and cream striped raglan sweater before ducking his head through the hole. It was worth it to be miserable on the way to work rather than freeze at the office all day.

A smile played across Jeans lips as he grabbed his messenger bag only to be distracted by the happy little snores coming from Leia, his three year old shiba inu he had found in an alleyway near the publication he worked for in London while on his way home one evening. She was a feisty little thing and took a snap at his fingers when he had tried cleaning her off that first night she had spent at his apartment hence the name. She was the only leading lady in his life and Jean loved her with every fiber in him; had filled up the photo library on his phone with hundreds of pictures of her fluffy little face and videos of the jig she did whenever she wanted to go to the park. Now that Leia had calmed down--relatively--she did less nipping and more snoozing. However, she reverted back to being a hyper pup whenever they went on walks.

Chuckling, the blonde leaned over and kissed Leia on the head with a sweet scratch to her tummy. With a long yawn and stretch the animal opened its dreamy eyes and stared at him before pawing at his face. Placing a peck on her nose, Jean patted his leg as he rose while calling her name. Sitting up within seconds, Leia stretched out her back with her eyes closed as if she were smirking. Slipping her red tied bandanna around over her head so that it settled over her collar, Jean left the room with her hot on his heels. Grabbing a small bottle of orange juice for the road and an apple, which he tucked into his bag, the blonde gave the shiba her morning treat, filled her dishes then gave her one more kiss on the head before leaving; telling her to behave herself while he was gone.

Outside the apartment complex, the flowers were all in bloom and there was a steady wind that carried the pollen along its current. For anyone else, this wouldn't have been a problem. But for Jean, it drove his allergies wild. Having forgotten his hospital mask in the apartment, he contemplated going back to grab it but decided against it when he glanced at his watch. Removing two tissues from the portable pack in his bag, he cupped them in his palm and held the makeshift mask over his nose and mouth. It helped for the most part except for when he had to sneeze or cough because it wasn't just the pollen bugging him.

Flopping down on the bus stop bench, he took a deep breath in through his mouth then coughed as his body reminded him once more that he shouldn't be out of bed. Closing his eyes, Jean tried willing himself into feeling better. He had a ten hour day ahead of him and it wasn't as if someone could do his job for him. With four possible sources to call, an invitation to the designer's preview to RSVP to, and a lunch date with her reclusive twin scheduled, there wasn't any way he could call off of work. He'd just have to drink three packs of Emergen-C and take two Sudafed's so that he didn't sound as awful as he felt. It was as he was concentrating on leveling his rapid pulse that a familiar voice called out to him.

"Ey," Marco said, suddenly appearing to Jean's direct left. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

Opening his eyes, Jean could see the brunette staring at him from where he stood leaning against the bus stop overhang. It was rare for the brunette to be out and about that early. Usually he slept in and was smoking on his balcony when Jean came by to catch the six bus to work. However, once in a while, he would leave the apartment for an early morning run or to grab groceries or flowers from the local shop down the street. Today, he had a small bag of old hard copy books from the trader a couple blocks over. Looking up from the bag of novels to the brunette's face, Jean was surprised to see the worry in the man's deep umber eyes.

"Hey, seriously, are you okay?" Marco asked again as he went to place a hand on the blonde's forehead.

"I'm fine," Jean lied while forcing a smile. Brushing the hand away before it could touch him, he tried avoiding the question altogether. "What are you doing up this early? Don't you usually sleep in?"

"I do but it was too hot this morning. Now back to the question I asked you earlier."

"I'm fine Marco. You don't have to worry about me."

"Yeah right you're fine," he countered while fighting Jean's swatting hands before winning when his wrist made contact with his forehead. "Jesus, you're burning up. What the hell are you doing going to work like that?!"

"Because it's nothing I can't handle." Frowning, the blonde batted his hand away as the bus rolled up. "Anyway, I got to go. See ya'."

"Jean--!"

Before anything else could be said, Jean boarded the bus and the doors swung shut behind him; cutting Marco off just as he mounted a protest. They were just neighbors. Neighbors that happened to talk every morning and evening and sometimes went out to grab a beer together. But that was it. They may be friendly with one another but that didn't mean Marco had the right to fuss over him that way. They were friends and neighbors--nothing more--and Jean had a job to do. Yet still, it was hard watching the brunette's expression dip to a disappointed frown as the bus pulled away from the curb and sped off down the road.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

"Damn, you look like hell," Connie said as he caught Jean walking into the office. "Hey man, are you okay to work today?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just allergies," Jean said with a slight growl. Since when was everyone so concerned about his health? "I'll be fine after I sit down for a minute."

"Whatever you say dude. If you need to call off just let me know."

Brushing it off, Jean suppressed a cough as he quickly made his way to the back of the floor to his desk by the glass wall that overlooked the city. As he sat down, the fit ripped out of his lungs muffled only by the desperate hand he held in front of his mouth to keep the germs from escaping. As he buckled over while retching for air, Eren popped his head to the side of his computer with one brow furrowed and the other arched as high as it would go. The last time he was home, Jean had had a small tickle in the back of his throat or at least that's what he had said. But now the guy was three shades paler than normal and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Removing his headphones he waited until the coughing spell was over before speaking.

"Just a tickle in the back of your throat, huh?" the brunette groused with both arms folded across his chest. Of all the people allowed to lecture Jean, Eren was one of the few who had the honor of doing so without having their head bit off. "What the fuck are you doing here Jean? You look like hell and you probably feel like death warmed over."

"I have too much to do Eren. I'll take some Tamiflu and a couple Sudafed's. It'll be fine."

"No you fucking won't."

"Dude, please, not today."

"If you get any worse, I'm telling Erwin and Mike and having you sent home."

"Fine, mother," Jean snarked before popping a single pill of Tamiflu into his mouth followed by three vitamin C tablets. Swallowing them with a cringe and a shiver, he sighed. "I'll be okay Eren. I promise."

"The last time you said that I had to take you to the hospital for pneumonia."

"It won't get to that point. If I feel any worse, which I won't, I'll clock off early. 'Kay?"

Still not pleased with the offer but knowing it was the best he'd get, Eren clicked his tongue while slipping his headphones back on. "Fine. But I'll be watching you."

Snorting a laugh, Jean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay man."

The day carried on as usual or as normally as it could with Eren glancing over the top or side of his computer every half hour to check in on the blonde. Since they had grown up together--and were neighbors no less--the brunette was like the older brother Jean never had. Sometimes he could be a bit much and overdo it with his worrying which was classic Eren. But sometimes, he was more subtle and thoughtful. Throughout the afternoon, the guy would check in and discreetly take his temperature despite Jean's fussing and made him lemon-honey tea instead of coffee. Sure, they got a few sideways glances when Eren gave his friend a shoulder and upper back massage on his break but they were known for being the oddballs of the newsroom.

It was thanks to Eren that his temperature had dropped to a hundred-and-one and that his joints didn't hurt so much anymore. As such, he was able to rsvp to the preview he had been invited to by the designer, Ymir, whom he had still yet to meet in person and made it through two phone interviews without dying from coughing. By the time lunch came around, his throat was less irritated and his bones didn't feel as if they were bending in half. Jean knew it was only temporary but was thankful for the brief reprieve no matter how short lived it may turn out to be.

After reassuring Eren that he wouldn't push himself during the sit-down interview he had scheduled that afternoon, Jean left the office to meet the designer's brother for lunch. The whole thing had been arranged through both of their agents. Apparently the twins were so busy that they left their scheduling to their managers. It wasn't uncommon--especially for a designer prepping for fashion week and a soccer player who was about to make a comeback bigger than Muhammad Ali's--but still, there was something strange about them. During his research, the only photo's of them he could find were of either twin wearing a beanie and sunglasses. Whether they be together or apart, they wore basic cloths, covered their eyes, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. But whoever this guy was, he a huge deal in both Spain and Brazil.

Following the directions he'd gotten from Google Maps, it didn't take too long to find the restaurant they were meeting up at. In fact, it was pretty close to his apartment being only ten minutes away. Sal Cafe was casual yet elegant and designed with open breathing space in mind. It was modern yet not pretentious and had a soothing air about it that was difficult to describe entirely. Something about the way the light glanced off the soft white walls and how the tables were simple wooden pieces with matching chairs and fine drinking glasses waiting to be used reminded Jean of his favorite hideaway back in Hawaii where he had studied with Eren before leaving for London.

Telling the hostess he was there to meet with a "Bott," the young woman's eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed as she nodded then escorted him to the outdoor seating area. The view was gorgeous from the deck that was literally sitting atop the pristine white sands. Walking towards the back area which was less populated she stopped with a hand extended in the direction she told him to go. Understanding her enough to know that his table was the last one in the row of booths with pastel orange couches for chairs, the blonde thanked her for her assistance. Yet as he approached the table, his brows furrowed with his mouth slowly cracking open. There, sitting at the table looking as handsome as the day he first saw the man leaning against the balcony railing, was Marco. Dressed down in a pair of slim dark jeans with an intricately incised brown leather belt, a gray cotton t-shirt, and a pair of broken in slide-on Jerusalem sandals, he skimmed through the news headlines on his phone--eyes passively taking in the stories from behind his mirrored aviators.

"Marco?" Jean breathed almost disbelievingly. There was no way this was happening.

Looking up, the brunette's expression changed to one resembling the blondes. "Jean? What are you doing here?"

"Meeting someone for work. What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting with some reporter that wants to talk about my sister."

"I'm writing the story about your sister," Jean said, still unable to wrap his head around the situation. "I was told the guy I was meeting was named Marcos."

"Well my manager said the reporter's name was John," Marco countered. "That is unless he misheard it." Looking at the writer for another moment, reality sunk in. "Holy shit, you're a reporter?"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. It's just you never talked about it so I'm a bit surprised. You don't act like any of the ones I know, that's for sure."

Asking if he could sit, Jean sat down opposite of the brunette; relaxing into the chair while almost forgetting how shitty he felt. "You must not know many journalists if you think we're all shitty people."

"I never said I thought you were shitty people. It's just the ones I know are generally hard-nosed people." Pausing the conversation as the server came to take their drink order, an idea formed in Marco's head when he heard Jean sneeze from the other side with a sniffle following it. "Since I normally don't do one-on-one interviews, I have one condition you must adhere to or I will decline to comment."

"What?! But you're already here!"

"And I can just as easily get up and walk away," he smirked with a hint of deviousness peppering his accented tone.

With a scowl, Jean sighed and slumped back into the couch as he admitted defeat. "Fine. What is it?"

"The moment we wrap this interview, you call in sick and I take you home so that you can sleep off whatever it is you have."

"You don't have to walk me back to my place."

"After the way you blew me off this morning, yes I do."

Arms folding, Jean stared him down while biting the inside of his cheek with lips pursed. This whole day had started terribly so it'd make sense that there'd be some humiliation strung in somewhere along the line. It wasn't enough that he had Connie and Eren bugging him and Flynn telling him to get some extra sleep and drink tea. Now he had his neighbor from two blocks down bugging him. And to make matters worse, if he didn't comply then it'd shoot his whole story to hell. Figuring he could always work from home, Jean clacked his teeth together then squared his jaw.

"Fine, I'll go home and sleep after this."

Arching a brow knowing that battle had been won too easily, Marco kept his comment to himself while his bowed lips curved into a smirk. "Good. Now what is it you want to know about my sister?"

After asking the brunette if he could record their conversation, Jean removed the audio recorder and pressed record after setting it down on the table to his right. Pulling out his pen and notepad, the blonde clicked the top of the uni-ball pen in his hand.

"Well, let's go back to the start."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Three drinks in and two plates later, Jean was splitting at the seams as Marco regaled him with the story of how he and his twin were caught ditching class when they were thirteen and had to call their mother from the police station where they were waiting for her to pick them up. Apparently their father, Benico, wasn't the person to appease in the family since he was a mellow carpenter that spent most of his hours at the office sculpting functional and decorative installations from massive blocks of rare woods. It was their mother, however, who was to fear. Owner of three Michelin Star restaurants as well as the head chef, Mercedes was a fierce and passionate woman as her son described but knew when to put on her "mom face."

"The principle at my school was terrified of her because she always came in looking like she was ready to argue with someone," Marco chuckled as he sipped at his mimosa. "I was always getting into trouble with my teachers and got away with it at first. But then she realized that I was being a little shit so I had to clean my act up way early. I remember the counselors would purposefully separate Ymir and I because we were too much to handle together so they put us in different classes as a mercy to the teachers."

"Jesus, and I thought I was a terrible kid," Jean smirked with a low chuckle. "So you two grew up in Brazil?"

"Yes. We were born in Sao Paulo but moved to Rio de Janeiro when we were ten."

"And how long did you live there?"

"About seven years until mom and dad wanted to relocate to Spain to be with our grandparents. They were both ailing and couldn't take care of themselves the way they used to so my father suggested that we move and they come live with us."

"Your maternal grandparents?"

"No, my father's parents. My mother is from Brazil and my father is a Barcelona native."

"Really?" Jean said with surprise clear in his tone. "How did they meet?"

"My father was traveling through South America after graduating from college and met her in a cantina. Two years later they were married and my mother was pregnant."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah," Marco smiled as he remembered the photo's he saw of them on their wedding day. "They got married on the same beach they had their first kiss and honeymooned in India. Both of them love 'old world beauty' and thought riding elephants and sleeping in a tree hotel was the most romantic thing on the planet."

"And what do you think?"

Looking at Jean for a moment as his smile took on a more playful edge, he rolled his head to the side; his bright brown eyes just barely visible over the rim of his sunglasses. "It depends. With the right person I suppose it could be terribly romantic."

Words gone when he caught the glint in those devilish pools of earthen brown, Jean cleared his throat before he choked on a cough. "Well with the right person, I would guess anything is possible."

"Mmm, one would assume." With a quick peek to his watch, the brunette's smile softened. "Well, not that I don't vastly enjoy your company, but we've been at this for two hours. And while you may look like you're getting color in your cheeks, you're still sick and a deal's a deal." Slipping a hundred in the servers billet to pay for both their meals, Marco rose with an outstretched hand. "Shall we? If you want, we can keep talking as we walk but the moment you get home, you're sleeping."

Staring at the hand offered to him, Jean relented. "Sure. Let's go."

As Marco helped him to his feet, the blonde couldn't help but notice how his hand lingered in his for a moment longer than was necessary. He also could not stop from wondering why the man was walking so closely to him or what those quick glances and little smirks meant. He knew that Europeans were far more hospitable than Americans gave them credit for; Jean having learned that when he studied abroad for a semester in France. Maybe it was because over the past couple of weeks that they had been talking the two men had gotten quite chummy with one another and people on this side of the Atlantic had no issue with open displays of affection or fondness even if it were between two men.

On their short walk back to his apartment, Jean began asking more questions about Marco than about his sister Ymir. Technically, their entire conversation was off the record and his recorder and pad of paper was safely tucked away inside his bag. So whatever they talked about now was just to better familiarize themselves with one another. He didn't know why but Jean wanted to know the small silly things about Marco like the way kids on the schoolyard would ask each other what their favorite cartoon show was. For example, he learned that Marco's favorite color was sunrise yellow which was why he always woke up at dawn to watch the sun come up. He had an invisible friend from the ages four to seven named Bello before he died fighting pirates. His favorite food was pastel de queijo--a deep fried pastry from his hometown--and practically lived off of them and horchata during the summer. Not much to Jean's surprise, Marco was not a fan of cold weather yet, oddly enough, loved the rain. His favorite number was three--just like Ymir--which, as luck would have it, was the number on the back of his team jersey.

Turning the corner onto his street, Jean was suddenly wondering where all the time had gone. He hadn't even noticed that they were getting close to his apartment or that they had rounded the corner until they were standing directly in front of the main entrance. Biting the inside of his lip, the blonde wanted to ask if he'd like to come upstairs but this wasn't a date and Jean was sick. Moreover, Marco wasn't gay or at least not from what he could tell so the question may come off as offensive or presumptive; or worse, calculating as if he were trying to put the moves on him. But before the young man's mind could spiral any further away from reality the brunette cleared his throat then jerked his head toward the entrance.

"After you," was all he said and with a relaxed smile no less. "Can't trust you to follow through unless I see it through to the end. For all I know, you'd start working the moment I turn my back."

"You really are committed."

"I'd like to think it's one of my better traits."

Biting his bottom lip, now with a smile, Jean rolled his eyes then sighed. "Right, well let's go."

"Which floor are you on?"

"Top floor."

"Ah. El castillo en el cielo."

Remembering just enough of his junior college Spanish to catch what he said, the blonde nodded. "Basicamente."

"Hablas espanol?"

"Un poco."

Smile curling at the corners of his lips, Marco tried to play it cool. "Hermoso."

Scaling the five flights of stairs up with little conversation between them, Jean could feel his heart begin to flutter as they neared the door. This was the first time he had had anyone over to the apartment that wasn't a work friend. He was so busy that he hardly ever went out and his dating life was virtually non-existent. Apart from the one-night stands here and there--always happening at the other guys place--it had been four years since his last relationship; a dud he would gladly forget if the guy would let him. Swallowing hard, he removed the keys from his pant pocket; fumbling for a moment before finding purchase in the lock. Turning the deadbolt back, he opened the front door and awaited judgement. 

His place wasn't anywhere near as grand or elegant as Marco's from the two times he had gone over to his place before they went out for drinks. But it was calm, serene in its beauty, and a place he could call his own since Eren was gone almost eighty percent of the time. Crouching down to greet Leia as she entered the living space with a cheery bark, Jean was thankful to see that Marco was an animal lover. Taking a knee, the brunette scratched behind the dogs ear then rubbed her belly when she rolled over for him. She had never done that for a stranger before. Most of the time she let people scratch her ear and that was it; often pulling away and hiding behind Jean when someone got too close. But there was something about Marco that she liked. 'She isn't the only one,' the blonde humorously thought to himself. Watching as the brunette rose--the shiba still pawing at his hand for attention--Marco took a quick look around.

"It's beautiful here. Peaceful and clean."

"Yeah. I wanted something that didn't remind me of the dorms I lived in during my college years."

"I can relate to that. So," he paused momentarily as their eyes connected, "where's the bedroom?"

"You seriously don't trust me, do you?"

"Not when it comes to this I don't. You usually come back from work looking like a man returning home from war."

"Well you aren't far off the mark." Jerking his head toward the hall to their right, Jean smiled. "Come on, it's this way. Eren has the left side of the place though he's usually never here."

"Eren? You mean Eren Jeager?"

"Yeah. You know each other?"

"Kind of. He interviewed me a month ago about my return to the field. He's also dating a good friend of mine."

"Wait, you're friends with Levi?" Jean asked as he opened the bedroom door and sat his messenger bag down on the desk. "How?"

"We went to the same university. I was a photography major and he was on the newspaper."

"No shit. You must be good to have majored in it."

Shrugging, Marco absentmindedly ran his fingers over the ridges of the numerous sea shells boarding Jean's windowsill. "I guess. I wasn't the best but I wasn't bad."

"We're our own worst critics." Toeing off his shoes, Jean flopped back onto the fluffy layers of blankets, sheets and the marshmallowy duvet covering his bed with eyes closed and a content smile. "I'm not going to say you were right but this was definitely a good idea."

Watching as the young man forgot he had a guest and curled up onto his side pulling the blankets in around him, Marco couldn't stop the chuckle that passed through his lips. "Well you've had a long week. You really should take better care of yourself Jean."

"I try but it's hard when there's so much I have to do," the blonde said dreamily.

"I suppose I'll have to keep my eyes on you then since you refuse to take decent care of yourself."

Opening his eyes just a crack, Jean smiled and reached up as the brunette sat down on the opposite end of the bed. Framing the side of his lovely sun-kissed face, the blonde wished in that moment that he could say what he was thinking. Wished that he wasn't sick and had more courage because he wanted nothing more than to kiss the man whose cheeks were covered in the most adorable expanse of freckles he had ever seen. Jean wanted to thank him for being such a gentleman and for the hospitality he had shown him during the short time they had known each other. He almost did when the brunette leaned into the comforting touch of Jean's warm palm that smoothed over his honeyed skin like silk dancing in the breeze. But the young man restrained himself. Knew better than to get caught up in the kind gestures of others and let his mind runaway from him. The last time he had allowed that it had cost him. 

So Jean retracted his hand; knotted it in the duvet to retain the phantom heat left behind on his palm and fingertips. His decision wasn't made any easier though when Marco began to comb his fingers through the writers soft flaxen hair while wearing a peaceful smile of his own. They watched each other for a moment as Jean struggled to keep his eyes open with the brunette doing his best not to laugh at how endearing the sight was. Eventually though, the blonde did fall asleep to the entrancing sound of the ocean waves and the seagulls crying in the distance while a warm late afternoon breeze rolled in to bedroom and filled the space with the scent of sea salt and roses from the garden downstairs. As a small snore escaped Jean's lips, Marco finally allowed himself the laugh he'd been holding back. A moment later--once he was sure the blonde was asleep--he smoothed the hair back from his dewy skin and kissed Jean on the forehead.

"Sleep soundly Jean," Marco whispered with a kiss to his cheek. Turning to Leia who was sitting in her dog bed under the window staring up at them, the brunette smiled. "Make sure he doesn't work himself to death, pequena."

With that, Marco silently stood, closed the bedroom door behind him and left with the memory of Jean's sleeping face safely stored in his mind for another day.


	3. Eres Bello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it mean to want and to be wanted back...?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> DAMN.....: I really need to stop letting my fics do whatever they want like rebellious children. Now the plot trajectory is off. Oh well, now it'll be an adventure for all of us. Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading this and will excuse my terrible Spanish.
> 
> Also yes, I am purposefully using "Bello" instead of "Hermoso" for the title because it’s about time we start working past gendered words. But that’s just my personal opinion.
> 
> Stay freaky and stay lovely,
> 
> -Mars, your martian overlord

It was hot again; hotter than it had been last week and the week before that. Sun blazing overhead with thin wisps of clouds streaking across the azure sky, Jean would have died from heat exhaustion had it not been for the gentle breezes that blew on shore every five minutes or so. Gazing out over the white pristine beach that stretched on forever in either direction and the vast expanse of the Mediterranean, it was hard to not become lost in the simple beauty of that moment. Difficult was it not to slip into a state of serenity as he lounged on the multicolored silk and satin pillows piled high atop an equally lush sofa bench nestled in between two tall potted areca palm trees. And even more so was it hard not to wish that he could spend his entire weekend this way, lazing around like some pampered king on his throne.

Eyes darting over to the radio when the host returned from the commercial break to discuss the sports highlights, it was no surprise that Marco's name was the first to come up in conversation. The man was all anyone seemed interested in talking about; then again, the nation as a whole was crazy for soccer so it only made sense. Whether it be on TV, on the radio, or in the newspaper, he was there--his professional life on parade as if it belonged to the public. From his team stats to the number of championships he's won and theories as to why he took such a long break, nothing was safe from society's prying eyes. It was no wonder why Marco guarded his private life so closely and why he was always on edge when he went into the main city. 

Contrary to his on-field persona as the forward and ace of the country's all-star national team, the brunette preferred quiet days at home mellowing out on the balcony drinking a beer and early morning walks along the beach. He collected decks of playing cards from each country he's traveled to and spends his Sunday evenings with his family. Playful yet thoughtful, he cared for those around him but knew how to cut loose and enjoy the little moments in life. The Marco Jean knew was so much different from the one the world saw whenever he stepped onto the field. It was like night and day; polar opposites woven together by the underlining authenticity of his honest words and sharp sense of humor. Moreover, the writer had learned in the last couple of weeks how self-conscious the brunette was--the faint blush showing in his cheeks even now as he stepped onto the balcony and changed the station before anymore could be said about him.

"Take it you don't like the sports hour," Jean joked as he took the cool bottle of beer offered to him with a smile.

Smirking as he took a sip from his own drink, Marco leaned against the railing with his back to the beach. "It's not that I don't like it. I just prefer keeping my personal and work lives separate. Bringing work home is bad for one's health."

"So I've heard."

Snorting a brief laugh, the brunette knew that Jean wouldn't follow his advice no matter how many times he said it. It was both frustrating and admirable to know someone so dedicated to their work. Headstrong and determined, the blonde poured himself into everything he did; gave it his all regardless of the situation. Whether it be writing a story for work or relearning the Spanish he had forgotten over the years since his freshman year of college so that he could converse more comfortably with the locals, Jean didn't know when to take things down a notch. He was earnest, patient, and committed--all adding to the list of things Marco liked about the young man.

"Speaking of mixing work with play," the brunette mused as he swirled the beer around in his bottle, "I was wondering if you'd like to join me at Manchester tonight."

Brow furrowing slightly at the request, Jean gave him a lopsided smile. "Sure but what does that have to do with work?"

"My sister's going to be there so I thought I'd introduce you to her. I know you've been having a hard time getting her to sit down for an interview because her schedule is so hectic. Well, that and she doesn't like reporters. But if she were to meet you outside of work--perhaps in a more relaxed environment without the added pressure--she'd be easier to approach later on. It's all up to you though."

"Are you kidding? Of course I'd like to go!" Jean beamed before blushing when he realized how desperate he must sound. "Sorry, I got a little carried away," he mumbled shyly while rubbing the back of his neck.

"You don't need to apologize. We're friends so just relax and let me help when I can."

Friends. Right, they were just friends the blonde thought to himself as a little part of him broke on the inside. "Fine, if you insist."

"Good. Just a word of caution, don't hit on the blonde woman who'll be accompanying her unless you have a death wish."

"Girlfriend?"

Marco shook his head. "Wife. Ymir and Krista have been married for a few years now but my bullheaded twin still gets pissy when someone hits on her partner."

"I can imagine. But it's not like there's anything to worry about since I'm bent too."

A sudden silence overtook them as the unexpected confession loomed in the air. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Jean was shocked by his own carelessness. That was not what he wanted to say; not how he wanted to come out to the brunette. They had only known each other for three weeks and here he was screwing up their friendship with his word vomit. It was classic Jean. So like him that he wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole before anymore damage could be done. 'Idiot!' he hissed fiercely to himself as he watched the expression on Marco's face change from one of shock to something he couldn't read. 'Well now you've done it. He'll probably stop talking to--'

"You know, I kind of thought you were but I couldn't tell for sure," Marco chuckled; his eyes softer now and more open than they were moments ago.

"Wait, what?" the blonde gawked--his mind still processing the hole he had just fallen into. "You mean you aren't creeped out?"

"No, why would I be? My twin's gay too remember."

"Yeah but--"

"But nothing. So what if you're gay. It's not that big of a deal unless you let it be."

Staring at Marco for a moment longer, the writer couldn't believe his ears. His whole life, people had brought him down and shunned him for his sexuality. Both he and his brother had grown up fearing themselves since their mother made it very obvious what she thought about the people in the LGBTQ community. Every boyfriend, date night, moment of joy, and tears cried when he was dumped was kept a secret. Even when he went off to university, Jean struggled with accepting who he was. He had hated himself for so long that he was certain everyone else would if they knew. Everyone except for Flynn and Eren and Armin who he had been friends with since birth. Yet here, in this unexpected moment, he found acceptance. Acceptance and understanding.

"How are you even real?" the blonde whispered without thinking.

Marco just smiled. "Because we aren't that much different." Watching the blonde's brows furrow, he shifted his weight from resting on one leg to the other. "You'll find it isn't an uncommon thing here or in the rest of Europe for that matter."

Throwing caution to the wind since he had already embarrassed himself, Jean took a chance and asked something that was really none of his business. "Marco, are you..?" he hesitated; anxiously biting his bottom lip. "Are you gay?"

Another laugh; this time soft and breathy. "In a way. I'm open to others regardless of gender even though I've dated more men than I have women. Like I said, it's not that big of a deal. We're who we are and move on with our lives. Well, at least here that's how it is."

Smiling too now, Jean felt a wash of relief as the weight lifted from his shoulders. "Yeah," he said, gazing back at the brunette. "You're right."

"Mhm." Finishing his beer, Marco then arched a brow with a smirk curling the left corner of his lips. "So, you'll come tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Bueno."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Eren could feel bags forming under the one's that were already under his tired eyes as he climbed to the top of the stairs of his apartment building--keys in hand with the mail in his other. Grunting on the last step, he trudged down the hall before reaching the door at the end that read 222b. Turning his key in the lock, the brunette was immediately greeted by Leia who stood up to lick his face with both front paws planted firmly on his chest as he squatted down to her level in the main foyer. Chuckling as she licked his cheeks and chin, he looked around wondering if Jean was still around. His car was in the same spot on the street it had been in when Eren left for the meeting with the printers although that didn't mean much of anything since the guy took the bus more often than not or walked. It was when he heard frustrated groans resonating from the hallway to the right that he knew Jean was home.

Smirking with his glasses slumping down his gently sloped nose, Eren rose with a pat to his thigh signaling Leia to follow. Dog in tow, he sauntered down the hall after toeing off his shoes and resisted the urge to laugh when he saw his flatmate tearing through his closet looking for something to wear. The occasion must have been an important one since the last time Jean had been like this, it was for their enrollment interview at the University of Mauna Kea. Glaring into his closet as if the thing were alive and mocking him, the blonde clacked his teeth together twice before squaring his jaw with another agonized sigh. 'This must be really important,' Eren thought quietly as he sat down on the spacious bed cluttered with clothing. 

"Hot date tonight?" the brunette asked casually while scratching behind Leia's ears. Smirk softening when his friend spun around and gave him the stink-eye, Eren relented. "Too close to home?"

Sighing again as he ran a hand through his light flaxen hair, Jean tried to relax. "Actually yeah, kinda. Well, maybe. I don't know. It's weird."

"Wait, rewind here. Do you really have a date tonight?"

"Sorta." Fidgeting under the weight of Eren's perplexed emerald gaze, Jean's anxiety heightened. "That's why I said it's weird. I don't know if it's a date because it could also just be for work but then also not. It's complicated."

"Okay," the brunette dragged out the word to buy time. "Well first, how is this a work thing? Most of the clothes you pulled are on the more casual side so I doubt you're meeting a source."

"That's the thing, I am meeting a source. Actually, I'm meeting THE source for my story, Ymir with SoulChild. But it's not an official thing so that's part of the problem."

"Dude, what? I thought you said she was booked until the end of the week."

"Well, that's the other problem. You know that soccer player you interviewed a while back? The ace captain making a comeback just in time for the World Cup?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"That's Ymir's twin. He also happens to live two blocks down the street."

"What the fuck? You serious?!"

Jean nodded as Eren's mouth went slack with eyes wide as he fell back against the mountain of pillows behind him.

"Okay, so they're twins and he lives within walking distance. What does this...have to..." Eren paused mid-sentence. "No," he breathed low; almost disbelievingly. "Don't tell me he's the guy you've been talking about. Not the hottie you've been ditching me to hangout with."

"First, I did not once ditch you because you're always with Levi," Jean corrected him as he too flopped onto the bed with arms spread to his sides and eyes trained on the ceiling fan. "And yes, that guy."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"So what makes this a sorta-maybe date? My spidey senses are telling me that there's another plot twist coming."

Jean snorted a laugh. "And for once they're right. He's pan."

"As in...?"

"He likes both men and women. We were chilling earlier today at his place and I accidentally let it slip that I was gay--"

"Pfft. How'd you manage that?"

"It was after he offered to introduce me to Ymir tonight at Bar Manchester. He told me not to hit on the blonde woman that'd be with her since that's Ymir's wife. I told him it wouldn't be a problem since I'm bent."

"Wow, that was graceful."

"Shut up," Jean groaned, feeling the humiliation come rushing back as he remembered the exchange. "Anyways, after that I apologized for making it weird but he said it wasn't that big of a deal and that he went both ways so there was nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Ah, I see now. So you're wondering if you guys are going as friends or if there may be something else going on."

"Yeah, basically."

"Hmm," Eren hummed as he stared off into space for a long moment. "Well, whatever it is, I'd just dress the same as usual. He doesn't seem like the guy to care about what someone is wearing but more so what kind of person they are. But hey, that's just my opinion and I could be totally wrong. Anywho," the brunette grunted as he got up. "I'm gonna go collapse in bed and sleep until the bags under my eyes are less noticeable. I scared Levi half to death today when we met up for coffee. Don't overthink it, 'kay and remember, you look best in navy and dark green."

Laughing with his eyes closed, Jean bit his lip out of habit. "Hey Eren, tell me I'm a tree."

"You're a tree Jean," the brunette chuckled as he looked over his shoulder briefly with a humored smile then left the room. "Later man."

"Yeah, later." Eyes opening to gaze up at the fan as it spun through the warm summer air, the blonde breathed a sigh. "Fuck."

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Nerves shot and brain fried from worrying about what this outing was exactly, Jean left the apartment to meet Marco at his place like they always did when they went out for drinks. The walk took a total of four minutes yet it felt like an eternity as he just barely made it to the corner; palms sweating and heart racing. Following Eren's advice, he wore a simple chambray button down with the sleeves rolled up and the top button undone paired with his worn and true black slim jeans cupped at the bottom and his favorite white Converse low-tops. Ditching his contacts because they always seemed to irritate him the later it got--likely because of fatigue--he opted for his dark red box frame glasses regardless of how self-conscious they made him feel. Yet as he drew closer to the pastel yellow apartment that bordered the coast, the blonde began to second guess his choice of apparel. Maybe he was too dressed up since he usually wore a t-shirt and jeans. What if Marco's sister thought he looked like a tool and didn't want to talk to him? What if Marco thought he looked bad?

As the thoughts bubbled over in the pit of his stomach, he turned the corner to see the brunette standing there in the warm light from the street lamp looking as handsome as ever. He wasn't even wearing anything special--just a plain white scoop neck t-shirt with darkwash jeans, a woven leather belt, and his favorite cognac brown leather jacket--yet even so, he looked irresistible. Mentally checking himself to make sure he didn't broadcast his internal dialogue that was all Marco, Marco, Marco, Jean put on his best casual smile without making it look too forced. The brunette may swing both ways and didn't mind that the blonde was gay but that didn't automatically mean that he was into him. In fact, he was fairly certain that the soccer ace was miles out of his league. They were friends. 'Just friends,' he reminded himself as he closed the distance between them.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. I had to walk Leia before I left."

"Blaming it on the dog eh?" Marco joked, easily flashing that killer smile of his. "It's alright. Ymir's already there and saving us a booth near the back."

"Cool."

"Ey, you don't have to be so nervous," he said in a softer tone as he gave the man next to him a quick glance up and down. "She's not going to eat you alive or anything. Actually, to be honest, she'll probably try to coerce you into modeling for her."

"What? Why?"

Snorting a laugh with a little groan as he rolled his eyes, Marco couldn't help but find it endearing how innocent and unassuming the man could be at times. It was hilarious watching him get hit on at bars without even knowing he was being hit on. Even now, Jean had no idea what he was suggesting.

"Nothing. You'll find out later. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Making their way through the narrow streets between the Gothic buildings towering above them, the two men made small talk while dodging drunk club goers that had met their limit a bit too early in the evening. Turning onto Carrer de Milans, they knew they had arrived when they were greeted by the blast of classic British rock that filled the backstreet where the main entrance to the bar was located. Greeting Enzo--one of the bartenders who was on break outside--they entered the converted apartment building that now housed one of Barcelona's best kept secrets. 

A strange amalgamation of 1980's punk London underground, American grunge, and trendy street scene, Bar Manchester was both a throwback and a flash forward. From the skewed striped wall paper and crisp white opposing walls to the red, yellow, and orange orb lanterns that hung overhead, the converted two-floor walk up was cozy; noisy and packed to the gills with locals, namely college students that came to unwind with friends. But it was still both Jean and Marco's favorite place to cut loose when they were feeling social.

Catching his name being called over the wailing vocals of Karen O singing "Pin", Marco took Jean by the hand without thinking twice and led him through the sea of bodies shifting and moving around them. It was a lucky thing that the brunette's attention was focused on getting them to the other side of the bar in one piece because, had he looked over his shoulder at Jean, he would have seen the blush rushing to his face. From the moment he had first laid eyes on that living breathing Adonis, the writer had had a thing for him. Growing the closer they became, things had still been manageable up until that afternoon. But now that Jean knew Marco liked both men and women, his mind was running wild with untamed fantasies of what it would be like to be pinned to the wall and kissed breathless by the man. Those traitorous thoughts intensified when he felt the hand holding his give a gentle squeeze before weaving their fingers together. 'Just a friend,' he repeated though it was losing its effect every time. 'We're just friends.'

"Ah, el rey ha llegado!" called a tall slim brunette from the booth they were closing in on. And oddly enough, she looked almost identical to Marco. Definitely feminine with more feline features and mischievous hazel eyes. But they looked so strongly similar that Jean knew immediately who she was. Hugging her twin tight, she grunted with a dreamy smile. "Dios, yo te he extrando. Como has estado?"

Holding her a moment longer, the brunette seemed to be just as relieved to be reunited with his other half. "Estoy bien. El entrenamiento es brutal pero sobrevivo."

"Más te vale," she laughed with a pinch to his ear. Eyes glancing over his left shoulder by chance, they landed on the awkward yet handsome blonde standing at his side. "Is this the friend you were telling me about?" Ymir's voice taking on a more playful ring when she said the word "friend."

Nodding, Marco stepped to the side and placed a hand on the young mans shoulder. "Ymir, this is Jean. Jean, this is my sister Ymir."

"Nice to meet you," was all Jean could manage along with a relaxed smile and handshake.

"Likewise. You wouldn't happen to be the same Jean that's been leaving messages on my managers voicemail, would you?"

Biting his lip as he retracted his hand to rub the back of his neck, the blonde suddenly felt more self-conscious than before. "Yeah, that's me. But I'm not on the clock right now so you--"

"It's fine kid," she laughed; her freckled nose wrinkling just a little the same way Marco's did when he laughed. "I'm just yanking your chain as revenge for Maritza. Come on, we already ordered appetizers and a round of drinks."

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One drink and a couple plates of appetizers turned into a round of shots, a few pints of beer, and cocktails as the four swapped stories--breaking out into laughter and singing along to the familiar rock anthems that played one right after another. Somewhere between the second round of Guinness and the shot of whiskey Ymir and Jean had started talking about her latest collection that was about to make its debut on the runways in Paris. Beating out industry powerhouses like Balenciaga, Yves Saint Laurent, and DSquared for the top honors of opening the French fashion week, it wasn't just Ymir clothes that brought in the crowds. More like it was the attitude she imbued into her designs which was why it wasn't much of a shock when she told Jean that she'd taken inspiration from the grunge fashion of the nineties and turned it into what she called "neo-space grunge." At least, it wasn't when one took into consideration how she looked.

Dressed in a pair of tattered black denim overalls with the flaps down, a form-fitting netted tank top over a black bra with a white, grey, and black flannel tossed over with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of checkered Vans Authentics covered in doodles and patches, Ymir was the epitome of rebellion. Hair shaved on the left with her shoulder length chocolate tresses brushed to the right to display a run of intricate irezumi tattoos that stretched from the nape of her neck, down to her slower back, over the left shoulder and wrapping around her slim yet feminine hips, there was a roguish sex-appeal to her that stood in stark contrast to her wife's almost prim appearance. She was unlike anyone Jean had ever met before. A walking contradiction to societal norms with twelve piercings, a masters degree from an Ivy League university, and a fashion empire built from the ground up in her name and all by the age of twenty-nine. 

Glancing between the twins as he attempted to keep track of his conversation with the woman, Jean was both floored and humored by how alike yet different the two Bott's were. They had the same sense of humor, the same razor-sharp wit and charm. They had the same noses, smile, and laugh; they even used the same hand to smoke. Both covered in freckles that faded into their caramel bronze skin, on the surface they were so shockingly similar that anyone could tell that they were twins. Yet, on second glance, Jean caught the differences that separated one from the other. Ymir was outgoing, loud, and spoke without even thinking of her words or how they'd be received. Pretty much lacking a mental filter, it was up to Krista to reign her spouse in when things got out of hand. True, she was plenty of fun to be around; the literal life of any party she went to because her personality could fill up any space and bring the room to life. On the opposite side of the coin was her twin, Marco, who was pensive, sarcastic yet in a different way, and shy in a way Jean would have never imagined. Honest yet considerate and mildly brazen, he was nothing like Ymir. Apart they were incredible. Together though, the siblings were indomitable; made whole by one another to make the picture-perfect powerhouse.

Laughing at yet another one of Ymir's crude jokes--one that, had he been sober, would have had him tongued tied--it was actually the innocent brush of Marco's fingers over his that were resting on the seat beneath the table that had him blushing. At first he ignored it thinking that it was just a mistake. That his hand had dusted his while he shifted in his seat. But then it lingered atop the blondes; the brunette's tanned thumb smoothing over the skin on the back of Jean's hand in a tentative, almost tender manner. Trying to keep his cool as their fingers wove together, he felt his heart stutter and stomach knot. This wasn't the usual European skinship he was slowly becoming accustomed to. This was something else; something intentional. 'Is it the alcohol?' Jean pondered internally while struggling to pay attention to Krista as she spoke. Nerves snapping as his hand was gently squeezed by the brunette's, the blonde excused himself, saying he had to use the bathroom.

Jean could feel their eyes on him as he left. Could feel the residual heat from Marco's skin on his palm and the tingling along the flat of his wrist. Moving through the crowd with added care so that he didn't knock into anyone leaving the bar counter with a drink, the blonde pushed open the bathroom door and collapsed against the tiled wall. Taking a minute to catch his breath, he ignored the other guys washing their hands at the sink counter who had been staring at him since he got in there. Eyes on the ground and knees aching as they held his drunk body up, he waited until the bathroom was empty before groaning a heavy sigh.

Approaching the counter on unsteady legs, he turned the faucet on, removed his glasses, and splashed cold water on his face to shock his brain back into functioning properly. 'It's nothing,' he told himself because it wasn't anything. They'd been drinking so slips in character were natural and Marco had said that he'd had both male and female partners. 'Maybe he just wanted...' Sighing again while shaking the thought free from his limbs, Jean knew that the brunette wasn't just trying to get into his pants. That wasn't the type of person he was. But why would Marco do that? Looking up, Jean stared into the same amber eyes he saw every morning and night. The same boring face that was too long with ears he'd always hated. He saw the small beauty mark on the bottom right of his chin that reminded him of a witches wart because of the way the kids on the playground used to make fun of him. Jean saw the same awkward self-conscious teenager he kept hidden under a veil of feigned confidence when--in reality--he couldn't stand looking at himself sometimes.

Why would anyone want to look at him? In Jean's mind he wasn't hideous by any stretch but he wasn't memorable. He wasn't stunning like Marco, charming and youthful like Eren and Armin, and he wasn't visually arresting like Ymir or Levi. Jean was plain. A blank canvas with an average build, average height, average skill, and average looks. That's what he believed. That's what he'd been conditioned to believe after years of being knocked down for sticking out too much when he was a kid. It didn't matter how many people he had dated or how many boyfriends he'd had. Not once had he believed he was worth their time--their interest or admiration. There were just some people in the world that were meant to shine and others that were cast in nameless supporting roles. That was him. Forever the wingman but never the lead.

"God, I really have had too much to drink," he laughed to himself as his head dipped low with shoulders hunched; hiding from the judgmental gaze of his own reflection. Looking up, he was met with the image of his teen self with gangly arms and facial features that were too sharp. "You suck," Jean smirked halfheartedly.

Collecting his thoughts and stuffing them back into cold storage where they belonged, Jean put on his best poker face and left the bathroom. Grabbing a bottle of water from the bar on his way back since it was best if he stopped it with the alcohol intake, he rejoined the group. On the outside, everything was fine. He was socializing like before, laughing and joking around as if he had not just had a little existential crisis in the bathroom. Everything was fine. He was fine. At least he would be so long as he kept telling himself that. So long as he didn't his fantasies win. So long as he didn't touch Marco even though there were a few more instances when their bodies touched for a moment longer than what was normal. So long as he didn't give in to that whiny brat dwelling inside him. If he ignored it all he would be fine.

Around one-thirty, Marco and Jean parted ways with Krista and Ymir who drunkenly invited him to visit her design house in two days for a tour and another round of drinks. Accepting on the condition that she go home and rest, he waved goodbye to the women as they caught a taxi heading back towards downtown Barcelona. Car fading into the night, it was just Jean and Marco now. As they walked back home, the brunette couldn't stop stealing glances of quiet companion. The guy hadn't been the same since he came back from the bathroom. He didn't know if it was because he'd pushed too far with holding his hand--even though technically, Marco had been restraining himself there. He hoped that wasn't the cause of this awkward silence that loomed over them on their journey home. 'Fuck, what if he thinks I'm just trying to get into his pants? Shit, I didn't even think of that! Damn it Marco,' he chastised himself as they turned onto Jean's street. They always parted ways in front of the blonde's apartment. It'd become their routine on their nights out. Stopping outside the main entrance by the sweet smelling lilac bushes that were in full bloom.

"Hey," Marco said softly, his voice a near whisper as he reached out and gently grabbed Jean by the wrist before he could leave. "What's wrong? I can see the gears turning in your head right now so don't tell me it's nothing."

Opening his mouth to object, the words died on his tongue when he was caught in that molten umber gaze. "Don't look at me like that," Jean rasped as he turned his face away. He hated that expression. It made him feel so transparent. Maybe he was since he could never really control his emotions when he'd had too much to drink.

"Why?" the brunette asked as he closed the space between them all while trying to get the other man to face him.

"I don't like it when people look at me."

"Why?"

"Because there's nothing worth looking at." The words were out before he could stop himself. But what did it matter? It was true after all. "I'm boring." The word stung more when he said it out loud than when he said it in his head. Staring at the space between them, he only then noticed how close their feet were which meant... Tilting his head up, the air caught in his lungs when he saw Marco a mere inches away. "Please," he pleaded weakly. "Stop staring at me."

"Not possible." Marco leaned forward before a protest could be uttered and pressed his lips to Jean's in a long comforting embrace with hands framing the blonde's beautiful face; his thumbs rubbing away the quiet tears that had snuck past his defenses. "You're not boring Jean," he whispered against those perfectly smooth and full lips. "You're beautiful and worth every moment of my attention."

"Marco," Jean fought though his heart wasn't in it as he was pulled flushed against the brunette--hips to hips and chests touching--as their lips were brought back together. 

Was it okay for him to be doing this? He wanted to accept Marco's words. To take them and allow them to grow within his damaged heart that was held together by stitches made with thin thread and shallow promises to himself that one day someone would give a damn about him. Was it possible that now was that time? That Marco was that person. Jean wanted to believe so badly, the very bones of his being screamed out for deliverance. 'Maybe...' he thought timidly while shyly wrapping his arms around the brunette's shoulders with a hand sliding into that adorable crown of untamed dark brown hair. 'Maybe it's safe.'

Pushing back into the kiss, Jean parted his lips slightly giving Marco the option of either taking the invitation or pulling away. His heart nearly broke free of his chest when he felt the brunette's tongue roll over his and lick into his mouth. Drowning in the smoky sweet taste while wrapped in a fragrant cloud of night blooming lilac, the writer held on tighter as the embrace evolved into something more heated yet just as tender. It was if Marco was trying to convince him that he was beautiful without using words. Telling him that he was worth the trouble, worth the awkward conversations and moments of self doubt with the flats of his hands that pressed into the blondes back and waist near the small of his spine.

"Stay with me," the blonde nearly stuttered as the words escaped him in between kisses. "Stay over tonight."

Eyes wandering over Jean's lovely face that was illuminated so perfectly by the moon, Marco wanted to agree. "I'm not trying to get into your pants; not yet at least. I want more than that." Smiling when the blonde blushed, he pressed their foreheads together. "Do you understand?"

Jean nodded while swallowing back his nerves. "Yeah. I understand. But I don't want to fall asleep on my own tonight."

"And you won't."

"So you'll stay?"

Marco didn't know why, but it broke his heart to hear the subtle tone of shock in the blonde's voice. "I'll stay."

Unable to control himself now, Jean smiled brighter than he had all night. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Marco smiled back with a kiss, unable to say no to those bright brilliant eyes of honey gold. "Jean," he whispered against his ear. "Eres bello."

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with a song on a hot summer day....
> 
> So, for those of you who have not noticed from my previous fanfics, I have a strong love for all things Spanish, Latin, and Latin-American. The people, the cultures, THE FOOD, the art... Just everything about the diverse spray of things belonging to the Latin-Spanish heritage gets my engine revving like no other. As such, I've wanted to pay tribute but hesitated writing this fic because I was (and still am) terrified that I may offend people belonging to these cultures. But my love overpowered my fear so here it is, my love letter for all things Spanish and Latin. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> -Mars


End file.
